


Small Steps

by imaginary_iby



Series: Alika [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that the first few weeks with a newborn are the hardest.  Join our courageous crime-fighters as they contemplate fatherhood, navigate bizarre sleeping patterns and completely and utterly fail to keep on top of the laundry.</p><p>Otherwise known as: the one in which Steve and Danny adopt a baby and try their best to stumble on through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Steps

**Author's Note:**

> In a rare display of organization, I have already written several subsequent chapters. Each will be a standalone, describing different aspects of fatherhood and family, and will be posted with a corresponding photo that focuses on both father and son's feet or shoes.
> 
> Inspired by [this image.](http://distilleryimage6.s3.amazonaws.com/ed023b66197611e28dfe22000a1c077e_7.jpg)

This is the story of four pairs of shoes. Of eight feet, and forty toes; of first steps, ticklish soles and games of footsie under the table. Mostly, however, this is a story of love.

It begins with a newborn: pink, tiny, scrunched and raw, all soft limbs and heavy lids that struggle with the weight of the world. It begins with a fledgling family, two fathers who seem all wrong for each other and yet who make it work, at heart. It begins with an afternoon snooze, a painfully stubbed toe, and an accidental photo.

It begins… well, it begins like this.

\----

-

“Stay,” Steve mumbles, a hand flung over his face dramatically. “ _Don’go, don’go. Don’lem’me fall‘sleep.”_ His words, already burdened by exhaustion, are further slurred by the fingers that he has smushed against his lips. He looks too tired to move, as if he could sink into the mattress and never return.

Fortunately, after several years by his side, Danny is well-versed in understanding incoherent grunts and murmurs. _Usually,_ they’re a sign of impending orgasm, but it seems that translating bedroom noises is a skill that’s easily transferrable to everyday life. “Relax, I’m right here.” He presses a fingertip to the smooth arch of Steve’s foot, little more than a fleeting touch as he rounds the end of the bed to cross to the dresser. “I’m watching you. I’m watching you.”

Steve purrs, a belly-deep noise of contented acceptance. The sound is comforting, both to Danny _and_ the baby, if the way Alika snuffles and gurgles in his sleep is any indication. Danny’s not quite sure how they’ve ended up in such a bizarre position, Steve dozing on his back with the baby cradled between his shins – he suspects it might have something to do with the large stain on Steve’s shirt. The last few days have taught him that Steve is _not_ one to pass up the chance to snuggle the baby to his chest, if he possibly can. 

Nevertheless, Alika looks comfortable, Steve looks exhausted, and Danny figures that as long as he’s watching them, they’re safe and sound for a quick snooze.

Pottering quietly around the room, he tugs his shirt up and away, whipping it over his head as quickly as he can and flinging it blindly towards the hamper. He does not dare confront just how behind they are on the laundry. He’d forgotten the single-minded determination with which a newborn baby could and _would_ stain every piece of clothing in sight. He’d forgotten the sheer volume and frequency of bodily fluids that seemed almost beyond control, as if the primary purpose of parents was to fight an eternal, (and doomed) battle in the name of cleanliness.

(Even Steve, the owner of a _particularly_ gruesome story wherein he spent three nights semi-submerged in a storm-drain, had turned to him only yesterday and said, “well. _That_ was disgusting.” His calm words had been belied by an expression of slightly stunned horror).

For now, however, Danny knows that there’s no point in dwelling on the mess. He’s learned from prior experience that moments like this, when the baby is content and quiet and clean, are to be treasured. All the love in the world, all the ways in which your life narrows down to the tiny infant in your arms… well, none of it means that you never feel angry, or tired, or impatient or selfish, just wanting to sleep for more than three hours without interruption and resenting anything that stops you from doing so.

There had been nights, Grace as small as Alika is now, when he’d hated himself. Hated himself for being angry with her when she’d merely been communicating her needs the only way she knew how, with distressed cries in the early hours of the morning. 

Three months into her life, his new partner at the station had finally dragged him into an abandoned interview room. Jimmy had sat him down and they’d had it out, loudly, no holds barred. They hadn’t really clicked before that day, a small part of Danny resenting someone trying to replace his daughter’s name-sake. But in that interview room, Jimmy, (ten years older and with three sons) had forced him to see that feeling angry didn’t make you a bad parent. It just made you human. They’d been firm friends ever since. 

As Danny now stands in his bedroom, thinking of the past and watching Steve zonked out to the world, he can’t help but feel conflicted – it’s a struggle, walking the fine line between imparting knowledge that he’s already gained, and not making Steve feel like a fool. He knows that Steve worries that he’ll be a lesser dad in comparison, that he’ll be a terrible dad in general. (Despite the almost militant study of babies that he had begun the day they’d gotten word from the adoption agency). So even though Danny is not particularly renowned for holding his tongue, he’s made a pact with himself to let Steve learn on his own. Oh, sure, there will be times when he’s going to have to take control, but Steve is a quick study and a dedicated learner.

But all of that is for the future. For now, they’ve only been home for three days, and the sight of Steve laying eyes on little Alika for the first time is still rolling around in Danny’s mind. Perched on the edge of the dresser, he shrugs his way into one of Steve’s shirts, drinking in the sight of father and son and replaying their first meeting.

-

They’d spoken briefly with Kiana, the baby’s birth mother, during her pregnancy. For reasons that were her own, she’d wanted a clean break after the delivery, feeling that it would be easiest. She’d requested that the baby be called Alika, her family originating from Ohio but having put down roots on the islands. Whilst the decision was ultimately theirs, they had decided to honor her wishes as a demonstration of appreciation, even if she would never know of it.

The hours in the waiting room had been interminable. Danny was pretty sure that he owed Kono a good bottle of scotch, so expertly had she distracted him with the crossword and cups of coffee. Chin had managed to trick Steve into a conversation about sniper rifles, and even though his size eleven boots had never stopped tapping nervously against the floor, he’d managed to devote his thoughts to weaponry for long enough to calm down.

When the delivery nurse had finally walked into the waiting room, tiny blanketed bundle in her arms, they’d all jumped up so fast as to think a shot had gone off. Chin and Kono had tried to give them some space, holding back when the nurse began to usher them all into an empty room, but Danny had found himself insisting that they share the moment.

“Who do I pass him to?” the nurse had asked, and Steve – _Steve McGarrett_ , he who ran head-first into firefights and jumped off buildings – had subtly tried to shuffle behind Danny’s frame, as if attempting to fade all six feet of himself into the shadows.

Before he’d known what he was doing, Danny had pushed the goof down into the corner chair, settling him in and beckoning the nurse forward. “Relax, babe, you’ve got this.” He’d perched on the arm-rest, leaning in to peer over Steve’s shoulder, watching as the nurse placed the little bundle into tanned and tattooed arms. Steve’s eyes had been as wide as saucers, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. 

Danny had momentarily been torn between whose face he wanted to study more.

“He’s alright? Everything’s okay? He’s not hurt?” Though Steve had been addressing the nurse, his eyes had not strayed from the tiny red face that poked out of the tightly wrapped linens. The baby’s head, snugged into a beanie, had seemed a little oddly-shapen; his eyes squeezed shut and swollen from the hardship of coming into the world. 

None of that mattered - delivery quirks would fade with time, and the baby was already perfect in that peculiar way that few others things in life were. Danny had never thought that anybody could be as amazing as Grace, had doubted whether or not he was physically capable of that indescribable kind of love, twice-over. To say nothing of the fear that he might _not_ love a child whom he’d played no part in creating.

And yet, in that moment, his fears had washed away. Something primal and instinctive had taken hold, putting down roots in his heart and making room for Alika between one breath and the next.

He’d been broken from his thoughts by the kindly nurse. “All fingers and toes, present and accounted for. There are still a few tests we need to run, standard stuff, but he’s fine. We wanted to get him out to you, considering the circumstances, so that you could meet him."

“And Kiana? She’s okay?”

The nurse’s face had softened, though it was immediately apparent that they would not be given a lot of information. “She’s fine, physically, the delivery progressed smoothly. As for everything else…well. She’s comfortable with her decision, fear not, Commander. But this is a time for the three of you, and your ohana.”

-

Danny is pulled from his reverie by the beeping of a phone. He flings himself forward to the bedside table, fingers scrabbling at the screen as the baby begins to stir. “Rule number one, Williams,” he mutters to himself. “Always, always, _always_ put the phone on silent.” The alert dies away, and he investigates the text message – an outright plea for baby photos from his father back in Jersey.

When he looks up from the screen, he finds that Steve is staring accusingly at him and the baby is wide awake, wiggling around between the cradle of Steve’s ankles. 

“I know, I know, I suck.” He holds his hands out in apology. “Sit up, will you? My parents are demanding photos, and unless you want them on our doorstep tomorrow with half of their worldly possessions packed away in a _truly_ frightening number of suitcases, it’s best to keep them happy.”

Steve makes a sound of dissent, reaching down to brush his fingertips gently over Alika’s downy head. “Comfortable.” The baby settles at the touch, and an expression of sheer joy plays out across Steve’s face.

Danny tuts, trying to play it cool even when the warmth of Steve’s happiness feels like a tangible whisper against his skin. He’s so busy stomping his thumbs over the phone, finding the camera function and rounding the bed to get a good angle, that he misjudges where he steps. 

His toe connects with the angular leg of the bed, tugging the digit painfully to the side and scraping skin off. For reasons beyond his understanding, the pain, as always, feels a little like twenty seconds of imminent death. Even Steve had caught his foot on the door-frame at work a few weeks prior, (freshly showered after a chase gone awry), and had hopped around HQ muttering angrily to himself. Until he’d noticed Kono doubled over with laughter by the tech table, at any rate.

In this instance, Danny _just_ manages to refrain from shouting alarmingly in front of the baby. He does not, however, manage to stay upright – his whole body curls over and he lets out a low growl through clenched teeth. As he hops forward, reaching instinctively for his toe and trying to sit on the bed, the phone slips from his grasp.

There is a flash of light, followed by the rasping automated sound of a camera shutter opening and closing. In the space of the next second, Danny is half propped on the mattress and the phone is lying guiltily on the floor, screen down but seemingly still in one piece. Choosing to blame the phone for his mishap, he ignores it in favor of hooking his foot up onto the opposite knee, curling his fingers around the aching digit. 

The bed shifts, Steve pushing himself up and scooping Alika to his chest in the process. “You okay?” His words are painted with uncharacteristic concern, considering the trivial nature of the injury. 

Danny would wager a guess that Steve is caught in the over-protective tidal wave that is being a new father. “Yeah,” he mumbles, the pain in his toe slowly beginning to ease. He bumps his shoulder to Steve’s, a little touch of reassurance. “Fucking hell. You wouldn’t think we have half-a-dozen bullets between us.” Deciding that the best distractions are _baby-shaped_ distractions, he reaches forward to gently tug Alika’s pant-leg down.

The next thing he knows, his arms are full of warm and wriggling infant, and Steve is reaching down in front of him to pick up the phone.

Danny doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself tuning the world out, his senses focused on his tiny son. Alika smells _pink._ Danny knows that that doesn’t make sense, knows that someone cannot _smell_ pink, and yet smell pink Alika does. He smells fresh and warm, tiny and content and sleepy. The pain in his toe long forgotten, he hitches Alika a little higher, pressing his nose to the baby’s temple and breathing in deeply. He smooths his hands up and down the floppy back, one eventually coming to rest over the be-nappied bottom for support. There is something about being chest to chest with the baby, feeling every squirm and exhalation, that ignites a spark of feelings that he cannot even begin to articulate. 

It is only when Steve begins shaking the phone in front of his face that Danny snaps back to the world. “What, what, what are you waving at me?”

“Look at this,” Steve instructs, finally holding still and letting Danny assess the screen.

The photo is one in a million, considering it had been taken mid-flight on a collision course with the floor. Alika’s tiny feet, new and never having walked the world, are nestled in between Steve’s far larger ones. The contrast in size is not even remotely surprising, and yet it still takes Danny’s breath away.

Steve shifts closer; instinctively Danny leans towards him until they’re tucked together, forming an arch over both the photo and the baby.

“So,” Steve says conversationally, his tone undermined by the expression of wonder on his tired face. “We have a son.”

Danny can’t help but smile. He bites back a dozen remarks about how Steve is certainly an _observant snowflake_ , and _would you like a cookie?_ because… well, he gets it. Despite the lack of sleep and the frequency of truly questionable smells, despite all of the constant reminders that their lives have been turned over, the realization is still hitting him again and again, every ten minutes.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We have a son.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am about as familiar with babies as I am with the geography of Pluto, so please forgive any glaring errors. I've conducted quite a bit of research, and pestered several amazing friends to no end, so cheers, ladies! Additionally, despite not appearing in this chapter, Grace will play a large role in this.
> 
> Image credit: [here.](http://karapearson.com/blog/2010/01/07/denver-baby-photographer-khalil-josef/)


End file.
